“Taylor, please tell me you’ve done this before.”
The fear in Syn’s eyes brings a fit of laughter from me though I nod at him. “I’ve done this plenty of times. My Grammy used to let me dye her hair all the time. I’ve dyed Michelle’s hair a few times also though her husband insists she goes to the spa to get it done every few months now. He’s sickeningly sweet. I hate and love the man.”
“Did their hair turn out the intended color when you did it?” He frowns deeply and watches my every move as I mix the hair dye. Somehow it was agreed upon that I would finally dye Syn’s hair. My theory is they used it as an excuse to pull me from my room after another week of self-pity.
Syn didn’t get a chance to chicken out this time, which is how we find ourselves in the middle of the kitchen with him on a stool and me holding a bottle of dye.
I roll my eyes at his concern. “I take offense to that. Besides, you’re dying your hair blue, Syn. If it turns green instead is that really a major concern?”
“I don’t like green. I want it blue. Maybe I should just do it.” He reaches for the bottle in my hand, but I pull it away.
“Don’t be such a wimp. It’s going to be blue, and your hair probably won’t fall out.” Syn’s eyes grow wide, and he starts to stand from the stool.
Laughing, I place my hands on his shoulders and push him back down. “I’m kidding! Oh my god, it’s so fun to mess with you.”
“Yeah, hilarious.” He tries to hide the trace of humor in his voice, but it doesn’t work well. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
After Syn settles back onto the stool, I drape an old towel around his shoulders and go about squirting the dye on his hair. He remains silent and I wonder if he’s afraid talking will mess me up.
It doesn’t take long to get down to the last little bit in the bottle as I notice a few spots need some extra coverage. I shake the bottle upside down to get the dye out. Allistar walks by us on his way into the kitchen after time in their basement gym. He doesn’t pay attention to what we’re doing. The sight of him post-workout distracts me, so I shake the bottle a little bit too hard. The tip meets with the top of Syn’s head with an audible thunk.
“Oh shit!” With a horrified gasp, I pull the bottle away and take a step back.
Syn starts to reach up to grab his head but stops himself in time to spare his hand from turning blue. Allistar, who stopped his pursuit to the kitchen, remains completely still as we wait for Syn’s reaction. Poor Syn takes a few deep breaths, clearly trying to calm himself, but it does no good.
He takes off into a cursing, yelling, pissed off tangent. Normally, I’d feel horrible for hitting him in the head, but for some reason the entire situation becomes hysterical, and I can’t stop myself from dissolving into a fit of laughter. Allistar spins on his heel, shoulders shaking, and continues on toward his destination. The big baby doesn’t want to get caught laughing at Syn.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Syn pushes to his feet and stomps to the half bathroom located down the hall from the dining room. He gently pushes the area I hit and winces. “Is there blood? I think you broke the skin.”
I only laugh harder at his bitching and whining. I nearly fall over as I try to pull in precious air. “I-I-I’m sorry!”
Syn shoots a look of disbelief my way and shakes his head. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
The apology was sincere, but it doesn’t take the humor out of it. Still, I do my best to control myself, taking multiple deep breaths.
A few stray giggles escape while I check his head, and with each one, he glares at me in the mirror. “Really, I didn’t mean to do that. I was distracted. Luckily, the skin isn’t broken, and the dye isn’t messed up. You’ll survive and so will your precious hair.”
“Next time, I’m doing this shit myself,” Syn grumbles, passing me on his way out of the bathroom. If I hadn’t noticed his lips twitching, I might worry that he was truly mad.
I chuckle as I watch him stomp away. “You’re welcome!”
I had fun hanging out with Syn, and I scold myself thoroughly for caving in. The small bit of fun with him lifted my spirits, but I should be hiding in my room and staying away from them. Instead, Allistar forced me to help him cook us all dinner after I nearly gave Syn a concussion.
While frying burgers in a cast iron skillet, Allistar stands wide-eyed. “You can cook?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug, a grin tugging at my lips, “I guess we’ll find out when you four eat. It’s called mystery burgers. Do they or don’t they have poison in them?”
Maverick swallows audibly from his stool at the bar. “I think there’s cereal in the pantry. I’ll probably just have that.”
The guys laugh at his nervousness, but he appears genuinely worried until he takes the smallest bite I’ve ever witnessed one of these four grown men take. His gaze darts to me, and he glares. “You tricked us.”
“How?” I chuckle. “It’s not poisoned, Mav. I was joking.”
“Not that,” he grumbles around a massive bite which is more like what I’m used to seeing with them. They generally inhale their food; they don’t simply eat it. It amazes me they can taste anything.
He swallows before finishing his explanation. “You can cook, and this whole time we’ve been doing all the cooking. You could have been making us dinners and shit.”
“Not happening, buddy.” I shake my head while I rub some oil on the newly scrubbed cast iron pan. “You four are more than capable. I’m not about to become your little housewife or whatever.”
The room stills, and I realize what I’ve said. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but the mention of being a wife to any of them brings immediate tension. With the excuse of work, I scurry off to the living room and leave them to eat without me. If I didn’t believe Syn would drag me from my room kicking and screaming, I’d hide in there.
A few days later, Marak stays home with me. Since I started working from home the guys take turns staying with me, and today is Marak’s turn. He asks me to go to lunch with him, and I accept the invite. It’s been too long since I ventured out of the house, and cabin fever has started to settle in. He brings me to his favorite restaurant, Cristiano’s. They boast the best pasta, pizza, and Caesar salad in town. I rave over the salad after only two bites.
“If you think the salad is good, wait until you have the pizza.” He winks then shoves a piece of cheesy bread into his mouth.
I scoff, “You’re a dork.”
“Remember what happened the last time you called me a dork?” Heat creeps into my cheeks and down low in my belly. I remember it well, and if we weren't in a restaurant I’d likely jump him again. By the heat flashing in his eyes, he knows where my thoughts are.
The waitress saves me from responding. She sets our food down, batting her fake lashes at Marak. Jealousy grips me hard though I reserve no right to feel it. He doesn’t belong to me. None of them do, and my heart breaks at the reminder. Marak doesn’t notice the waitress but knows me well enough to know something upset me.
He frowns my way. “What’s wrong, Red?”
With my eyes, I gesture to the waitress who happens to be waiting on a response from him as well. He glances at her expectantly. “What?”
“I asked for your name, honey,” she purrs, clawing at his arm.
He wrinkles his nose and pulls his arm away from her. “Excuse us, we’re on a date, and we’d like to be left alone.”
It’s a toss-up on who’s more shocked, me or the waitress. He called this a date. The waitress stomps off without another word, but all I can do is gape at Marak.
He does a double take of me and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “What? What’d I do?”
“You called this a date,” I say like he should already know what he did.
He clears his throat, takes a long drink of his soda, then finally folds his hands under his chin and gives me his full attention. “This is a date, Red. We’re dating.”
“But...” If I had any sort of argument, I’d bring it up now. Only, I don’t want to argue with him. I want to date him. I also want to date Maverick, Syn, and Allistar.
“I know.” He sighs, sitting back in his seat. “It’s complicated right now. The guys and I aren’t stupid, Taylor.” My heart stops. Is this the part where he tells me I need to pick one of them or none of them?
“We all know what we want, though. At least, I think we do. We just need a little more time to figure shit out on our own before we can figure shit out together. Can you give us some time?” he pleads, reaching out and taking my hand. “With the danger you’re in, we haven’t had a lot of time to talk about other things or think through everything on our own.”
“I can’t, Marak.” I shake my head, ready to get up and walk out. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Right now,” he squeezes my hand, “I only want you to agree with me that this is a date and eat your pizza. You haven’t eaten much lately, and it’s not good for you.”
Taking a deep breath, I give him a decisive nod. My predicament can’t get any worse. “Okay, let’s enjoy our pizza date.”
His smile lights up his whole face. My own matches his for the rest of lunch. By the time we get in the car, we’re both laughing at a terrible, dirty joke he came up with, carrying two pizza boxes to bring home for the others.
“Thanks for lunch.” I kiss his cheek, and he winks at me.
Our conversation lulls, and I use the opportunity to fiddle with the radio. Selena Gomez sings through the speakers, and I bounce around with excitement. “I love this song.”
Marak laughs as I dance in my seat and serenade him to I love you like a love song. Halfway through the song, his laughter fades, and his eyes dart to the rearview mirror several times in a row. Stopping my personal concert, I glance behind us, but nothing appears suspicious. Marak clearly doesn’t agree. He pushes the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel and scrolls to find Maverick’s number.
He glances my way nervously. “Red, I need you to sit forward and don’t panic, okay? Can you do that for me?”
“What’s going on, Marak?” My voice shakes, but I do as he asks and sit stone still in my seat.
Maverick answers the phone before Marak can reply. “Aren’t you on a date with Taylor? You’re a shitty date if you’re calling me to chat.”
The fact that Maverick knows me and Marak are on a date and doesn’t sound angry about it at all surprises me. Maybe Maverick decided he doesn’t want me and told Marak he should go for it.
“We’re being followed.” Three words change my entire train of thought. My issues with the guys, dates, how they feel about me... all of it drops to the background.
If someone is following us, it means they want to get to us, or more specifically, me.
Maverick and Marak both become SWAT before my eyes. They’re in control and in their element—their tones change, and Marak’s demeanor changes. It doesn’t ease the panic, however, because it means they’re about to put themselves in harm’s way for me.
Maverick and Marak spend less than two minutes coming up with a plan of action. Maverick, Syn, and Allistar will catch up to us and cut off the SUV following behind us, giving us a chance to get away. Then, they’ll follow the SUV until they find out who it is inside.
Marak hangs up, allowing the guys to execute their part of the plan.
“You okay, Red?” He gives me a quick check, then turns back to the road. “Talk to me.”
“I’m fine.” I have to say it twice because the first time my voice breaks. “I’m fine.”
Marak doesn’t believe me anymore than I believe myself, but neither of us can do anything about it right now.
Marak takes one hand from the wheel and grabs mine, bringing it to his lips and kisses my palm. “Taylor, everything is going to be okay. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
I open my mouth to reply, but a loud bang from behind us followed by glass shattering turns my words to a scream.
“Get down, now!” Marak shouts, pushing me toward the floorboard. He pops the glove box and pulls out a pistol, flicking the safety off with one hand. He swerves into the wrong lane, slamming on the brakes hard. The SUV passes us before they can hit their breaks. Marak swings the car back into our lane and rolls his window down. He aims the gun out the window at the SUV. One shot and I hear a tire pop. Two shots, two tires. Three shots, three tires. The sound of metal on the road hurts my ears.
“Just stay down,” Marak orders, not taking his eyes from the SUV ahead. “I got their tires, and they won’t get far before they have to stop. But I don’t want them to see you.”
One second, my hand rests on Marak’s thigh, trying to calm us both down. The next, the sound of metal crunching and glass breaking penetrates my ears. Marak curses loudly. I scream out to him, reaching for his leg, but it isn’t in the same place as a second ago. More crunching of metal, and a sharp pain in my arm. Marak won’t answer me as I scream for him over and over. My head hits something hard, and the world turns black.